Death Makes a Wish
by Sparkling Slayer
Summary: Finally finished and updated, for anyone who was reading! Thanks for the support, guys! :o
1.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

The world floats through space on the back of Great A'tuin the Star Turtle (and four elephants) and people float with it. So do other things, but it's not polite to name them. 

See, here are the twinkling lights of the sprawling city of Ankh-Morpork; a place that makes a cesspit seem like a delicate spring garden. Now go outwards, where the lights grow fewer and fewer, to the Rim, where the water pours over the edge and drenches the poor elephants unlucky enough to stand beneath it. But there are other places here, that the mind does not see. Just outside the Discworld, they belong to it, but humans do not see them. Not unless they're _really_ unlucky. Or _slightly_ mad.... Or even drunk... One of these lurking places is the _real_ Unseen University, where only the most very senior wizards go (and the Bursar, because he got lost). 

And here? Here is the garden of Death. No, _really_, it's a garden. It's black, of course, but there are trees and flowers and even fish and bees. If you look closely it's little fuzzy round the edges, here and there, but you can tell someone's put a lot of work into it, a lot of – love. Like one of those airplanes that comes in a kit, but you couldn't put the wings on straight. And in the middle of this black garden stands a cottage, providing a cottage has three hundred rooms and is rather larger than you might expect, but it's a cottage nonetheless. Look, it even has roses growing over the door. Black ones, but still roses. And here's a window, looking into a wide room, panelled in wood; a dark rug sits on the tiled floor, and there's a chair – with an occupant……who's smiling – but then, he smiles all the time. He can't help it. Really. But let us see what we can see as we draw ever closer to the room beyond the window…… 

  
~ * ~ * ~

__

Tappa-tappa-tappa. Tappa-tappa-tappa. Tappa-tappa-tappa. 

One long, bony fingered hand drummed on the shining (black) wooden tabletop next to the chair. Death rested his chin, such as it was, in his other hand and stared out of the black-framed window at the black garden. A black bee buzzed past the window and the black flowers swayed slightly in the breeze, even though it wasn't real. He stared out over the horizon he'd created. Mostly it was black. Or shades of black. He knew every inch of the garden out there, from the pond with its clear water and blackfish, to the stables where Binky lay, probably dozing, in warm flatulence. 

His eyesockets glanced round the room, resting for a moment on the lectern where The Book sat. Even now its pages flipped back and forth, though no one was touching them. His gaze (such as it is) drifted away from the book and he stared back out of the window again. Even with the grin on his skull, you could tell. 

Death was bored. 

He levered himself up from the chair and stalked out of the room, robes flapping behind him and feet clicking on the polished black tiles, heading for the kitchen. He passed, without really seeing them, the towering doors with their skull-and-bones motifs; and the huge black clock that silently rang in the hours with its wickedly pointed pendulum; a stuffed bird with inky black feathers sat on top of the gleaming case. Bats and ravens were carved all over it in, and the words _"Quoth the raven, no more"._ He'd rather liked Edgar Allan Poe. Handy, the odd dimensional jaunt here and there. Actually, he'd liked Poe _a lot_. Though Death's house would have made even _that_ gentleman break out into a cold sweat and run screaming for the hills. 

Death entered the kitchen, peering through a fog of warm air and smoke that smelled of fried things. Not that he could smell it, of course. Albert, his manservant, jumped as the door boomed shut, and dropped the egg he'd been sliding carefully onto a spatula. 

"Master?" he said curiously. Death never came into the kitchen if he could help it; he never said, but Albert knew he didn't hold with grease and fry ups. Those eye sockets could broadcast a lot of disapproval, when Death put his mind to it. Albert had often wondered where Death actually kept his mind, on occasion. I mean, surely it would leak out, he'd thought. He shook his head and looked inquiringly at his employer. 

ALBERT. DO YOU NEED HELP? 

Albert blinked in astonishment and stared up at the seven foot skeleton, dressed in flowing darkness, shifting from foot to foot in front of him. "H – help, Master? With what?" 

THAT. WHAT YOU DO WITH THE GREASE AND FLAMES. Death hesitated. BURNING. IS THAT WHAT IT'S CALLED? 

A bony finger extended from beneath a wide sleeve and pointed to the sputtering, lumpy fat in the iron griddle-pan. Smoke snaked towards the ceiling as Albert's bacon crisped to a point beyond help. 

"Ah. Well. Uh, no, Master. Not help, as such. That's just me breakfast, that is." Albert peered into the pan at the bacon and frowned sadly at the black lumps. "Well, it was." He straightened cautiously. "Are you alright, Master?" 

Death sighed. What he sighed with was anyone's guess, but he sighed nonetheless. 

I AM BORED, ALBERT. 

"Bored? How can you be bored?" the old servant said incredulously, absently waving the grease encrusted spatula round. Odd blackened bits flew off and crunched to the floor. "You're rushing round like a – like a – thing, oh, what're they called, tip of me tongue, wossname, yes that's it, a headless chicken, well, mostly you are, how can you have time to be bored?" He looked suspiciously at Death. "Don't you have somewhere to be? The Duty, Master?" 

I DID NOT BEHEAD THE CHICKEN. Death said firmly. AND THE DUTY CAN WAIT FOR A MOMENT. TIME IS MINE TO BEND AND NO-ONE WILL NOTICE. I NEED A REST, ALBERT. AND I NEVER GET TO MEET PEOPLE. WELL, NOT FOR LONG. AND THEY DON'T LIKE ME. I WISH I COULD MEET SOME PEOPLE. SOME _ONE_. A SPECIAL SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T SCREAM AT THE SIGHT OF ME. He sighed mournfully. OR MAYBE A PET OF SOME KIND. 

Try to imagine a voice like grating tombstones with a slightly petulant edge, and you have it perfectly. Try even harder to imagine a pouting skeleton. Go on, you can do it! There. Now you have Death to a tee, as he stands in the kitchen and talks to Albert. 

"Soooo, you want - to meet people? On a non-professional basis? Without the hourglass and scythe, dead giveaways, those are, oh yes, you don't want to be carting those around..." Albert mused doubtfully. The grinning skull nodded. "For friendship? Possibly leading to a caring relationship? Good sense of humour, must be – erm. Wossname. Thing. You know.. Alive?" The skull nodded harder. Albert dropped the spatula on the counter next to the greasy cooker and leant back without thinking. 

Death grinned more widely. I WOULD NOT LEAN THERE. IT IS HOT - The faint blue sparkle in the otherwise empty eye sockets flared for a moment as Albert suddenly leapt forward with a howl of pain, – AH. YOU'VE NOTICED! 

Albert glared sourly at him and rubbed his rear end, now smoking slightly. Muttering under his breath, he stomped round the kitchen, eventually settling down at the scrubbed wooden table with a cup of tea so strong he struggled to pull the spoon out. 

"Then you need the Ankh-Morpork Dating Society!" he announced at last, after some thought. He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "We'll place an ad. They'll be knocking down the door!" 

Death hesitated. DATING SOCIETY? KNOCKING DOWN THE DOOR? _MY_ DOOR? The twin supernovas deep in the darkness of his eye sockets flared, twinkling as he blinked, and looked suspiciously at Albert. IT'S NOT SOME KIND OF _RELIGION_, IS IT?


	2. Default Chapter

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

Albert frowned absently and chewed the end of the pencil, staring down at the blank sheet in front of him. It loomed before him, just waiting to be filled with words…… Cups with cold tea in the bottom lurked round him on the kitchen table, some creeping towards the edge and freedom, hoping not to be noticed. Balled up paper littered the floor where he'd been trying to write the advertisement, forming an ankle deep layer around him. _What could you say?_ he thought. _Seven-foot skeleton is looking for a partner, must be warm, good with horses, definitely not dead and like black – a lot?_

He sighed and started scribbling. Again. 

~ * ~ * ~ 

ALBERT. IT IS TIME FOR THE DUTY. 

"Hmmmmm?" Albert looked up from the piece of paper, now covered with his almost unreadable scrawl. "What? Oh! The Duty. Yes. Alright, Master, coming. Just let me finish this – we can drop it off at the Dating Society Offices on the way round, if that's alright," he said, grinning. 

Death nodded, trying to look over Albert's shoulder at the paper. HURRY, THEN. 

But Albert was having none of that; he leaned over, covering the advert with his arm until Death stepped back, pretending that he hadn't been trying to look anyway. _I_ WILL GET THE TIMERS FROM THE ROOM. He pointed a bony finger at Albert. _YOU_ CAN SADDLE BINKY. 

He turned, robe swinging behind him, and headed out of the kitchen, the door banging shut as he left. Albert smirked, listening as his Master footsteps tapped away down the hall; then he finished his mad scribbling, tucked the paper in his pocket and wandered out to the stables. 

~ * ~ * ~ 

Death hitched his robes to one side and climbed onboard the large white horse, who peered round and eyed him with mild interest, flicking his ears back and forth. Death had tried the traditional skeletal horse, but had become extremely fed up of being chased by stray dogs and dropping bones everywhere. So he'd got Binky. Once Death had settled himself, Albert gingerly heaved himself up into the saddle in front of his Master, being careful to avoid the sparkling blue blade of the scythe. 

READY? Death said, almost cheerfully, if a voice like a granite slab slamming closed can be cheerful. Sweet revenge for not letting him look at the advert; he knew Albert hated flying and would only do it on special occasions. Mind you, since it was the only way to reach the Disc, every time Albert fancied a pint became a special occasion. Albert nodded reluctantly, watching as Death shook the reins lightly. Binky began to move forward, picking up speed; when his hooves left the black earth of the garden, Albert swallowed, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and prayed madly to the deity of his choice. 

~ * ~ * ~ 

The Duty had been completed, the souls collected carefully, either stored in Death's robe or vanishing into blue pinpricks. Some had gone more cheerfully than others, and one wizard had downright refused to leave, but he'd gone eventually, after some careful – persuasion, we'll call it. Yes. Persuasion, and Albert's rheumy gaze, had done a lot. Especially since the wizard had recognised Albert's frowning, annoyed glare… 

WHERE IS THIS – DATING SOCIETY? Death looked at the back of Albert's head. YOU WANTED TO VISIT IT? 

Albert twisted round uncomfortably to peer up into Death's face. "It's over on All Souls Alley, Master. You just let Binky land nearby and I'll run in and it'll be all done!" 

Death looked doubtful. SHOULD I COME IN WITH YOU? AFTER ALL, IT IS ME THEY WILL BE MEETING. EVENTUALLY. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. AHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAH. JUST MY LITTLE JOKE. 

Albert stared in fascinated horror for a moment. "Ah. Well. Ah, no, no, Master, I think you should, um, yes, you should stay outside with, with, with - Binky. He, erm, might get stolen. Or something. I won't be long." He turned back round and stared ferociously at Binky's twitching white ears. 

Death shrugged bony shoulders and guided the large horse down. WELL, I WILL DO WHAT YOU THINK BEST. ARE YOU QUITE SURE I SHOULDN'T COME IN WITH YOU? 

Albert firmly shook his head and watched as the cobbled street rushed up to meet them. Amazing, the amount of people who won't see a large, flying white horse as it lands in the middle of the street. The busy populace of Ankh-Morpork simply parted on either side of the horse, who peered round at them placidly. WELL, HERE WE ARE. OFF YOU GO – I SHALL WAIT HERE FOR YOU. 

Albert slid down ungracefully from the saddle, grateful to feel cobbles under his feet again. He watched for a moment as Death also dismounted, produced a nosebag from somewhere inside his robes, and carefully fitted it over Binky's ears, humming tunelessly under his – well, humming tunelessly. Death looked up mildly. STILL HERE? 

"Just going, Master." Albert turned and trotted down the street, digging out the carefully folded piece of paper from his pocket. 

~ * ~ * ~ 

The woman glanced up, smile pasted on her bright red lips, as the bell above the door jangled to announce a visitor. When she saw Albert, however, the smile fell from her face like a stone, leaving it blank for a moment. After a swift kick from its companions, an expression of deep distaste shuffled over hurriedly to take its place on her refined features, and camped there. 

She riffled through some papers on the counter in front of her and sniffed. The sound spoke volumes.

"Oh," she said icily. "It's _you_ again." Her upper class accent could have sheared through glass. A tiny, tasteful golden plaque in front of her declared that her name was Mrs. Frost, Proprietress. 

Albert grinned and waved the paper at her as he wandered towards the desk, avoiding the hugely lush potplants that crowded the office. "Ah!" He wiggled a finger at her. "Not me, this time. I've come on behalf of, of – er, a gentleman I know. Wants to meet "that special someone." 

"Ay see." She looked a little more interested, though her expression still said that she didn't believe Albert could _possibly_ know anyone who could be called a "gentleman". Her eyebrows climbed towards her hair as she continued. "And do you have a description of this gentleman who has asked you to come here?" Her eyes narrowed and she looked suspicious. "Why hasn't he come himself?" 

Albert pushed the paper under her nose. "He's ah, ah, a very busy, ah, er, person. Yes, that's what he is." He was glad she couldn't see that the fingers on his other hand were crossed behind his back. "And, yes, I do have a description," he said triumphantly. "And I've even written the advert for him. It's all there," he added proudly. 

She sniffed again and gingerly took hold of the paper by its very edges, as lightly as possible. If she'd been able to hold it without touching it, she probably would have. She read the words on the sheet, muttering out loud as she did so. 

"Hmmm….distinguished………own home…….steady job……..must like cats…" she raised an eyebrow. "_Livestock?_*** Oh well, Ay suppose one can't have everything………………"

Finally she finished and sat back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her. She looked at Albert silently for a few moments, watching as he fidgeted. 

"He seems very good," she said slowly. "Almost too good to be true, in fact. There must be something wrong with him. Not a vampire, is he? Not that there's anything wrong with them, but one's clients must know what to expect when they go on dates. Or a zombie? Never goes well when bits of one's date fall off here and there. _Terribly_ messy." 

Albert shifted from foot to foot, fingers crossed more tightly than ever. "Errrrm. No. No, there's, ah. Ah. Nothing wrong with him at all." _That a bit of feeding up wouldn't cure,_ he added silently. 

He reached into another pocket and withdrew a small bag that clinked. "Here's the fee," he said, pouring the money out in front of her. "It's all there. I counted it out myself." _And Death stood behind me while I did it and moaned about the cost_, he thought. She watched the coins tumble brightly over each other into a shining heap. 

"Fine," she said briskly, scooping up the money. "We'll run the advert. Ay'm sure your, ah," she peered back at the paper in front of her, "Mr De'ath – certainly an odd name – will be very popular with our ladies. Ay'll be in touch. Good day to you!" 

~ * ~ * ~ 

*** - It might be worth noting that Death keeps chickens, being particularly fond of hard boiled eggs. He likes to paint them. See? Death has got a hobby. Oh yes, and he also owns a cow called Barbara. Hence, livestock. 


	3. 

~ * ~ * ~ 

Death wandered nervously. Albert perched on the edge of his chair and smirked, watching as the pacing figure reached the other end of the room, swinging round to come back. He stopped anxiously in front of Albert and waved a hand at himself. For his fourth date attempt, he'd gone for a change. Black, he said, was too – boring. He was a man – skeleton of the times, after all, and this was the Century of the Small Green Crab Apple. He'd decided to change from his usual black and was now attired in an oddly patterned robe. And for tradition, a red carnation was pinned near his collarbone, just to make sure his date recognised him. He'd even polished his skull; the ivory curve of bone gleamed, almost sparkling. 

DOES THIS LOOK ALRIGHT?

Albert tried to straighten his face. His muscles ached from trying not to laugh. "It looks fine, Master. She'll love it," he squeaked His voice wobbled suspiciously.

WELL. I MUST BE GOING. Death said. I DON'T WANT TO BE LATE FOR THE YOUNG LADY. I HOPE THIS ONE GOES WELL. IS BINKY READY TO GO?

Albert nodded, eyes watering madly. "Yes, he's all done, Master. Have a good time, and I'll – I'll see you, ah, tomorrow."

Death nodded carefully and left the room. When he'd gone, Albert collapsed into a hysterical heap, laughing until the tears poured down his face.

~ * ~ * ~

Agnetha Ridcully sighed and stared out of the window of lodging house bathroom. The sun had risen and she could hear the bustle of the city beneath the window; she could also smell it, but _that_ was something she was trying very hard to ignore. Like everyone else in Ankh-Morpork. If you were in another book, you could possibly have mistaken the bustling metropolis for the Emerald City, but it would in fact have been the smell that surrounded the city with its faint greenish presence…..

She'd come to Ankh-Morpork to visit her uncle, currently Archchancellor of the city's Unseen University for Wizards, and now she was bored. She'd been to see him a few times, tried explaining about the curse she was under, the bite she'd received, but so far all he seemed to do was thunder round and boom at people about exercise and healthy eating, and scare the poor Bursar silly. He'd promised to help her, but so far there was no sign of it. And in a week's time, the moon would be full again.

She'd been hoping to meet some dashing young men while she was here, but all she'd managed so far were some fat wizards and the Bursar, who, although very sweet, was quite clearly as mad as a hatful of frogs. After all, what was the use of coming to this huge city if you didn't gain anything apart from freedom from a particularly nasty curse? She wasn't allowed to stay at the University; her uncle hadn't explained why, but three wizards had exploded when she'd undulated her way into the dining room so she wondered if that had had something to do with it. Agnetha didn't do anything as simple as walk. She flowed, she undulated, she glided. Even her _curves_ had curves.

She closed her green eyes for a moment and made a decision. She still had some time before the moon rose full again, so perhaps she could meet someone before anything – happened.

~ * ~ * ~

She could hear the clacking of Mrs Cake's knitting needles before she opened the door to the parlour, a paradise of lace antimacassars and small, fussy ornaments. Agnetha gingerly poked her head round and tried a smile on her landlady. At least, she thought it was her landlady. It was hard to tell under all the fruit on her hat, and the lace that covered her dress.

"Ay'm fine thank you, dear. And yes, just finishing this and then Ay'm off to help out at the Vampire's Anonymous meeting." Mrs Cake said.

"How are you? You look nice. Going out?" Agnetha asked, wandering carefully into the room. She stopped. She blinked.

"Yes, certainly Ay know how you could meet someone," said Mrs Cake.

Agnetha struggled not to say it, but….."Do you know where I could meet some nice young men?" she asked.

"Where? Well, assassins, they're always nice young men. Well educated, know how to dance, always got some money. Don't hold with that _inhuming_ business, though, but it takes all sorts."

"Where should I be looking – oh," as her brain finally caught up with her mouth.

Mrs Cake sniffed. "Yes, alright then, Ay'll turn it off for a bit. Know it's unnerving."

"Can you turn off your – ah. Thanks."

Mrs Cake had the uncomfortable talent of knowing what you were going to say, in any conversation, usually long before you'd opened your mouth. It made talking very, _very _odd.

"Well, if assassins aren't to your taste, dear, there's always the Dating Society. Not been open that long, could be just what you're looking for. They do a newsletter and everything." Mrs Cake continued. The knitting needles flashed in and out. "It's over on All Souls Alley."

~ * ~ * ~

Agnetha pushed open the door. A small bell tinkled merrily somewhere in the back, possibly suggesting a small farm animal of some kind. She peered through the plants that crowded the room; then shrugged and pushed her way forwards, further into the mock jungle. She could see the edge of a desk now, and a dark head behind it. The woman was shuffling through pieces of paper, muttering to herself. "No, no good. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no…... Hmmmm. Possibly. No. No. Definitely NOT! No. Maybe…..no… Oh, dash it all!"

"Hello?" Agnetha ventured shyly. "Can you help me? I'm looking for – a date."

The woman snapped her head up; her eyes widened at the sight of Agnetha, standing nervously in front of her. Then she smiled, eyes twinkling.

"Ay'm sure we could help you," she gushed. "Take a seat, dear, and Ay'll see what we can do. I'm Mrs Frost, by the way. Ay own this lovely establishment."

Agnetha sank into a chair in front of the desk and watched as the woman pushed a sheaf of forms at her. "Just fill these in for me, dear, and we'll go from there. Ay'm sure we have _just_ the man a lovely young lady like yourself is looking for!"

~ * ~ * ~

Death stalked into the kitchen, where Albert was once again murdering his breakfast in the frying pan. The glitter in his eye sockets flared brightly as the old man turned, raising bushy eyebrows. He took in the fixed grin on his Master's skull – but Death did not look happy. At all. 

"How did it go, Master? Was she nice?" he asked nervously. He didn't wait for an answer, but swung back round quickly to the stove, wielding the spatula with unnecessary force.

I DON'T KNOW. Death said shortly. SHE – LEFT. QUICKLY. SCREAMING, I SEEM TO RECALL. He paused for a moment. WE HAD A VISITOR. DEATH OF RATS CAME ALONG FOR THE RIDE. I THINK THAT'S WHY SHE LEFT.

Albert coughed. "Ah, yes. That would be it, Master." He stopped poking the bacon for a moment and turned back round to face Death, watching as a small, hooded figure scrabbled up Death's sleeve and clung to his shoulder. An inch-long scythe was clutched tightly in a skeletal paw. 

SQUEAK. SQUEAK SQUEAK. SQUEEEeeeeeeEEeeeAK. Death of Rats explained.

Albert nodded, though he hadn't the faintest idea what the small skeletal beast had just said. 

ARE THERE ANY MORE – LADIES – FROM THE SOCIETY? Death inquired.

Albert shook his head mournfully and sniffed. "Have you – ah – considered a pet of some kind instead, Master?"

The skull moved slowly from side to side. Death grinned (even more than usual). NOT YET, ALBERT. THERE MUST BE MORE LADIES WHO ARE LOOKING FOR ROMANCE. WE WILL WAIT………


	4. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Mustrum Ridcully looked up from his crossbow as the study door slid open slowly. A head peered round the small gap timidly, mouth opening to speak, just as his finger tightened on the trigger. The crossbow bolt _zinged_ across the room like a mad hummingbird and the head jerked back abruptly with a strangled shriek and slammed the door shut moments before the bolt _thunked_ into the target painted on the back of the door. 

The Archchancellor lowered the crossbow and frowned, furry eyebrows meeting like colliding continents. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to knock, old chap?" he roared at the resentfully quivering door.

The door didn't answer for a moment, then a voice quavered faintly, "Ummm. Yes? And next week will be lovely, thank you. Jam? How nice! Oooooooh!"

The Archchancellor gave a long suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "Needs more pills," he murmured. He crossed to the door and yanked it open, peering out into the shadowy, statue lined corridor. It appeared to be completely empty of Bursars or any type of small fat wizard. He looked round suspiciously for a moment, tapping the crossbow absently on the wall beside him, before finally spotting a face peering out from behind a statue of a former Archchancellor, about halfway down the corridor. 

It tried a hopeful smile at him. "Raining fish? Gosh. What a lovely hat you have there," it said. "_Wheeeeeeeeeeee!_ Here we go! Oranges and bats, how super!"

"Come along, Bursar," Ridcully boomed kindly. "Come into my study, there's a good chap, and then you can take a pill and tell me all about it."

The Bursar slid out from his hiding place and wandered towards the towering bulk of the Archchancellor, humming tunelessly and twitching slightly. "Ah yes. Frogs will be lovely, next week is good for me too," he remarked to the empty air beside him. He blinked. "What's that? Oh, I expect so. The custard, you know."

Ridcully sighed and ushered the nervously twitching Bursar into his study. "Take a seat, old chap," he instructed. The Bursar sank down obediently. "And where's that little pot you keep, hmm? In your pocket, is it? May I see?" The Bursar fumbled round, finally producing a small box with a lid. It had a green frog painted on it. Badly. 

He blinked and handed it up to the senior wizard. "Froggy. _Greeeeeeen_," he commented.

"Lovely," Ridcully replied. He thumbed open the lid and shook out one of the tiny green pills that nestled in the bottom. "Now, Bursar, you take this, and then we'll be fine!"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

Agnetha sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair. She'd been waiting in the Bursar's office for what felt like _hours _while he went to get her uncle. He'd told her it probably wasn't a good idea for her to wander round by herself, you know how the students are, they get terribly overexcited, he'd said. Best to just wait here……….he'd shot out of the room like a – like a terribly fast thing. She'd tried humming to herself to pass the time but had become bored. She fanned a hand in front of her face; it was awfully hot in the Bursar's small office. Never mind the thick coat she was wearing…. She glanced round, tapping her foot idly. Bored, bored, bored. Maybe she should go and look for the Bursar? Perhaps he'd got lost somewhere, it wouldn't have surprised her. Poor little man…. Or maybe she should wait, as instructed. After all, this was the Unseen University and she didn't want to spend eternity lost in its labyrinth of corridors and rooms - she'd heard the stories. Those students who'd taken _one wrong turn_ in the library, for instance, and never been seen again…..

She flowed to her feet, silk dress swishing, and glanced round the small room. Perhaps there was something of interest on the bookshelves? She crossed to them and eyed the black bound volumes. Some were chained to the shelves and quivered nervously as if they felt her gaze on their bindings…… One flapped its pages at her, the spiky black writing writhing as the pages flicked past. Agnetha shrugged and backed away, turning towards the window. She pressed her nose to the thick, cold glass and cupped her hands round her startlingly green eyes, staring down onto the campus below, where hurrying figures caught her attention. They were the students – the senior and qualified wizards sort of drifted along majestically, like barges.

You could tell who the students were, she thought. They were – well, _thinner _than the qualified wizards, for a start. Their hats weren't nearly so large as their seniors. Or so well decorated. Did they have hat envy, she wondered? My hat's bigger than your hat so _ner? _My hat has more sparkly bits than yours so_ ner-ner_?? My hat's pointier that yours so _ner-ner-ner-ner-nerrrrr?_

A sudden insistent _cheeping_ distracted her. She jumped and fumbled in the pocket of her coat, finally producing a small black box. The latest in communications, the woman in the shop had assured her when she made the purchase. Keep in touch with everyone! She'd given the number of the Cheeper Mark IV _New and Improved_! to the woman in the dating agency office. And Mrs Cake, who'd said she didn't trust such things – all that magic, ooh, wouldn't use that dear, might be dangerous, what do you want a horrible little imp in your pocket for? - and wouldn't use it. But you never knew – perhaps the house had burnt down. Perhaps Mrs Cake needed something. Or maybe – maybe – it was a date? Heart thumping, she pressed a catch on the lid and it sprang open, revealing a small, swearing blue imp inside. A tiny table stood next to it, bearing a tiny inkpot and quill, with a small sheaf of paper. 

She looked down at it hopefully. "Hello?" 

The imp glowered at her. "Bingly bingly bing bing bing CHEEEEEEP," it muttered sullenly. "You have one new, incoming message from…" it glanced down at the tiny piece of paper clutched in its clawed hand, "…The Ankh Morpork Dating Society."

Agnetha waited. The imp said nothing further, just stared. Smugly. "Can I hear it?" she ventured finally. 

The imp looked at her witheringly and rolled its eyes. "Don't you people ever read the instructions?" it said rudely. "Press 109291 to hear your old messages. Press 20285910 to hear your new messages. Press 30203102812 to erase ALL messages."

"_What?_"

The imp sighed and repeated itself. Slowly. And loudly, just in case she didn't understand. "Press 1-0-9-2-9-1 to hear your old messages. Which you don't have," it informed her. "Press 2-0-2-8-5-9-1-0 to hear your new messages. You have 1," it continued. "And finally, press 3-0-2-0-3-1-0-2-8-1-2 to erase all messages."

"Press what? Where are the numbers?" Agnetha asked, staring helplessly at the smooth black surface of the box. She turned it round and round. There didn't appear to be any keys or numbers that she could see.

The imp shrugged. "Oi! Stop that, you're making me dizzy!" it snapped. "And, hell, I don't know. I just work here." The imp reached up and grasped a tiny handle on the inside of the Cheeper Mark IV _New and Improved_!'s lid. It looked at her and smirked. "Anything else?"

Agnetha shook her head in bemusement. 

"Thank you for using Cheeper communications. Good day to you! BING BING BING _end of session_!" it said, and slammed the door firmly shut on her finger. 

"Ouch!" She snatched her finger away and stared down at the lid, sucking her now bruised digit and listening to the faint giggling sound coming from the black box.


	5. 

~ * ~ * ~

The Bursar made a face as he swallowed the dried frog pill and then stuck his tongue out, possibly to prove he'd swallowed it. Ridcully frowned, and waved his hand through the air; the small glass of water he'd magicked disappeared in a shower of sparks.

"Oooh, flowers and stars, my cucumbers are here!" the Bursar said faintly. He appeared to find this terribly funny and started to giggle, listing over to one side on his chair and rolling his eyes. Ridcully sighed and moved round to take his seat behind the wide desk, shaking his head while he watched the Bursar's rising mirth. The dried frog pills that Ponder Stibbons had come up with were good, but sometimes they took a while to kick in and start working. The Bursar covered his mouth with his hand, peeking wide-eyed over the top, shoulders shaking, but still the giggles escaped, getting as far away from him as possible.

"Oh bless my hat, the auntie said no! Noooo to the bananas and the fish!" the Bursar suddenly shouted. "No, by the love of cabbage and I told you, it's the custard, you know! By the Gods, yes!" 

He blinked, his eyes opening wide, and appeared to realise where he was for the first time. His gaze focused in on the towering height of Ridcully's vermine and octarine trimmed hat and then wandered down over the impressively embroidered robe, stopping when it reached the edge of the wide wooden desk. "Errrr – errrrrrm ……..Archchancellor?" he asked cautiously. "Is that you?"

"Ah," Ridcully boomed. "Back with us again, eh Dean, old boy? Good, good. Now, were you coming to see me about something?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

The Bursar hesitated. Various expressions rushed across his face, tried it on for size and decided they didn't want to stay. Eventually mild confusion tried, left for a moment, came back and settled in for a bit, deciding to see how it went before making a permanent decision. "Errrrrr – someone to see you?" he hazarded wildly. 

"Yes?" Ridcully encouraged. He smiled though this didn't quite have the effect he'd hoped for. It just made the Bursar twitch a little more.

"Yes, I think that was it. There's someone to see you." The Bursar blinked rapidly. "Um."

Ridcully looked round, although there was nobody in the office but the Bursar and himself. "Well, where are they, man?"

"In – err – in - my office," the Bursar guessed in a sudden stroke of genius. "Maybe?"

Ridcully heaved himself to his feet and clapped the Bursar on the shoulder. "Well, let's go and see them. Who is it, by the way? Can you remember?"

The Bursar swallowed and his eyes misted over at the thought of the black-haired, green-eyed girl who had undulated into his office. "It's, it's the – err – it's your niece, Archchancellor," he squeaked. "Agnetha."

~ * ~ * ~

Agnetha had stuffed the Cheeper back into her pocket, deciding that she would go back to the shop and get a refund. Or another, more polite version that didn't laugh at people. She thought she'd possibly have a look at the manual when she went home, though, first. Just in case she'd gone blind without noticing. The muffled giggles from the imp had finally stopped and been replaced by faint snoring. She'd inspected the box carefully, but still couldn't see anything on its smooth, flat surface that could be mistaken for numbers or keys or anything else. She sighed and returned her attention to gazing out of the window, deciding that once she'd seen her uncle, she would stop by the offices of the Dating Society and see who - she hoped it was a _who_ and not a _what_ - that nice lady behind the counter had found for her. 

Eventually even the hurrying figures in the courtyard began to bore her. She giggled slightly as one young wizard was sent spinning into the air by his companions, robe billowing around him, but even that small amusement didn't last very long. She sighed and decided she'd had enough of cooling her heels in the Bursar's cramped office – she could always come back later to see Ridcully, and she was desperate to know about her (hopefully) forthcoming date…. As quietly as possible, she flowed over to the door and cautiously opened it, peering round the gap. Satisfied that no-one was heading her way, she slipped out and made her way down the corridor, heading (she hoped) for the door that led into the courtyard and the gates. Shouldn't be too hard, she thought, she'd come in easily enough. But even as she made her way out of the Bursar's office, a wall sprang up behind her, where no wall had been before….. 

The Unseen University got bored every now and again with the way it looked. And having absorbed vast levels of magic over the years, it was quite capable now and again of reorganising itself – the wizards were used to it by now and didn't pay too much attention, except to make sure they knew where the dining hall had gone. And it had decided that today was a changing rooms day. 

~ * ~ * ~

The Bursar scurried along behind the striding figure of Ridcully, trotting quickly to keep up. Figures scattered in front of Ridcully as he barged through; the students were used to seeing him pound round the corridors and had their evasive manoeuvres off to a tee. At least this time he wasn't running or wearing those odd things he called "shorts". The sight of his hairy knees pounding along had sent more than one student wizard into hysterics, resulting in smelling salts and on one occasion, revival by banana. The librarian had been involved. It hadn't been pleasant. No, you _don't_ want to know. Really.

Without looking over his shoulder, the Archchanceller boomed, "What does she want, eh? What does she _want_, that's the question!" 

The Bursar shrugged and twitched. He was starting to feel slightly odd again. "I don't know, Archchancellor," he replied faintly. "Something she came to see you last frog – er, week, about?"

Some faculty members were not quite so well prepared and the Dean of Seventh Level Studies, Winder Spoonsall, let out a nervous yelp as the Archchancellor's figure appeared unheralded round the corner, moving fast. "Ah, Dean!" Ridcully shouted as he spied the wizard trying desperately to get into a locked room. "Come along with us, man. My niece is here. Perhaps you can help out!"

"Ah, hahaha, h – hello, Ridcully," the Dean faltered. "Actually, I was just – er -"

"Nonsense!" Ridcully boomed as he swept past. "Come along!"

~ * ~ * ~

The three wizards came to an abrupt halt, almost skidding in their haste to stop before they ploughed into the wall that had appeared in the middle of the hallway. 

"Hmmm." Ridcully leaned forward, glaring suspiciously, and put out a hand. The solid brick wall in front of them quivered slightly. His eyebrows beetled together and he turned his gaze to the Bursar. "Is this yours?" he asked, as if the Bursar had possibly put it down and forgotten about it.

"Er, no, no, I don't frog – think so," the Bursar replied. "Whoops! I would have remembered. Stars and trees, the custard is here!"

Ridcully rolled his eyes and exchanged glances with the Dean. "Needs a higher dosage, I think. We'll have to see Ponder," he said. "Bloody place must be moving round again. Now, how do we get to the Bursar's room, then? Hmmmmm?"

Winder pointed to one side. "How about that staircase that's just appeared?" he suggested. "We could try that."

~ * ~ * ~

Agnetha, more by good luck than judgement, eventually reached the courtyard. She was sure there hadn't been quite so many turnings on the way, or so many bruised wizards wandering round but at last she was outside. And All Soul's Alley was just round the corner from the University. She pulled her coat more tightly round her, causing several student wizard eyes to bulge more than necessary, glided towards the gates, and headed for the Dating Society's offices.

The bell tinkled as she pushed open the door and peered towards the counter at the back of the room. Mrs Frost, alerted by the tinkle, came rushing from the backroom, peering through the potplants that crowded the office. When she saw Agnetha, her face split into a huge and slightly scary smile.

"Ah, hellooo, my dear! Come along in and take a seat," she gushed. "You must have received my message. Ay must say, Ay'm so pleased for you!"

Agnetha blinked. "Well, no – I - You are?" 

"Why, yes. Such a suitable gentleman! Ay'm sure you'll get on famously. A Mr De'ath. Ay have his details here," she was rummaging amongst the papers on her desk, "and he's certainly looking forward to seeing you."

"When – when are we meeting?" Agnetha asked anxiously.

"Well, he's a business man, you know, so he's busy for the next few days. Ay've set you up for next week, dear. The first night of the full moon – _sooo_ romantic, don't you agree?"

Agnetha swallowed, heart sinking. She could already hear it in her mind. "Ah. Yes. How lovely," she replied faintly. "Romantic. Umm. I – er – I – it will certainly be interesting."


	6. 

~ * ~ * ~

Warm sunshine poured in through the wide windows of Death's kitchen, and a gentle breeze ruffled the black flowers in the garden. A bumble bee (black, of course) hummed lazily here and there, flitting lightly around. No one has told it that it can't fly – yet. It continued its dance around the flowerbed, stopping first on one flower, then another. Eventually it stopped on one that promptly ate it. Never say that Death doesn't have a sense of humour. Doesn't he always have a grin on his skull? Anyway…

Albert stood once again at the stove in the kitchen, cremating something in a skillet. A mug of tea, so strong that the spoon had started to dissolve when he stirred it, was next to him on a handy counter top. From time to time he would turn to watch the seven foot skeleton pacing nervously round the kitchen, with Death of Rats riding companionably on its shoulder, have a quick gulp of what was, let's face it, only mildly related to tea, and continue cooking. 

SQUEAK SQUeeeeaak SQUEAK. SQUEAAAKKK. The skeletal beast remarked, only the tip of its pointed nose visible inside its cowled robe.

I CAN'T HELP IT. Death responded. He sounded like he was sulking, if a voice like the grating of tombs can be said to sulk. AND I'M NOT WALKING _THAT_ FAST. I FEEL ODD. AS IF SOMETHING IS FLUTTERING IN MY STOMACH. I WANT THIS EVENING TO GO WELL.

Albert blinked and wondered briefly where his Master's stomach was, and then attempted to drag his thoughts away from that path and where it led. How did the Master know something was fluttering in it? Was it in a jar somewhere? In the house? Did it _know_ he had a date? How? Did he talk to it? His thoughts continued to wander, despite his wishes, and he reined them in and gave them a good talking to. Sheepishly, they pointed themselves back at the matter in hand. Which wasn't his cooking, by the way. Oh, no. Something far more important. Can you guess what it is yet? 

The impending date…

Death turned to Albert, waiting for a moment while he gulped at his tea, and then plucked at his robe. WHAT DO YOU THINK? IS IT ME? IT MUST GO WELL, THIS TIME, OR THERE WILL BE NO MORE.

Albert cleared his throat, giving a few half-hearted pokes at the blackened sausages in the pan in front of him as the starry gaze fixed him in its white-hot glare.

"Er……er…….I'm – I'm sure the evening will be fine, Master," he said as soothingly as possible, whilst brandishing a spatula so crusted in grease and the burnt remains of bacon that it could have been used as a lethal weapon by a homicidally inclined chef. 

"Mrs Frost said she was charming, mind you, she always says that, I don't know where she gets it from, honestly, some of those people she's fixed me up with, zombies and vampires, a bed monster – I ask you! A BED monster, of all people - and even a skele- errr-" Albert became aware that his tongue had disengaged from his brain and was running away at full speed. A dangerous trait in anyone, especially an ex-wizard so close to Death. He blinked and snapped his mouth shut. After a moment of silence while two shadowed cowls gazed at him in curious fascination, he grabbed his tongue by the throat (so to speak) and started again. Death started to pace again, striding the length of the huge kitchen..

"Um. Well, Master, I mean - it'll be fine. I'm sure the young lady is very nice. Bit of a looker, eh? That's what she said. That Mrs Frost, I mean. Not that she's a looker, I mean the young lady. Ah," he floundered. He closed his mouth again for a moment, blinking his rheumy eyes. Death completed his latest circuit of the kitchen, turning on his heel and stalking back; he stopped in front of Albert again, and Death of Rats poked his nose out of his cowl, twitching it as Albert glared at him. 

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE ROBE? Death asked insistently, clutching a fold of the material in a, in a, well, a bony hand. What else could you all it? IS IT ME, DO YOU THINK? I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE A GOOD IMPRESSION. 

Albert eyed the robe doubtfully as Death stood in front of him, eyes watering at the clashing patterns. "Perhaps not the paisley robe, Master?" he said tactfully, blinking. "Maybe we should go for something – a little more classic." 

I DIDN'T THINK IT SUITED ME. Death said gloomily. BLACK IT IS, THEN. YOU ALWAYS KNOW WHERE YOU ARE WITH BLACK. 

SQUEAK. SQUEEEAK. SQuueeeaKKKK. Death of Rats commented, waving his tiny scythe in the air. The barely visible blue blade sparkled, shearing through particles of air. SQUEAK!

YES, I KNOW YOU TOLD ME SO. Death responded sourly. He turned to Albert. IF YOU'VE FINISHED BURNING, IT IS TIME TO SADDLE BINKY, ALBERT. IT IS ALMOST TIME AND I DO NOT WANT TO BE LATE. He turned and stalked towards the door. I SHALL CHANGE AND MEET YOU AT THE STABLES.

"Are you taking him as well, Master? After the last time?" Albert asked, indicating Death of Rats. "And it's not burning, it's _cooking_!" he added under his breath.

OF COURSE. I HAVE DECIDED THAT THE YOUNG LADY WAS NOT SUITABLE, SO IT CANNOT HAVE BEEN DEATH OF RATS THAT MADE HER LEAVE. Death said. AND I HAVE HEARD THAT – AH – PETS CAN BE GOOD TALKING POINTS IF YOU RUN OUT OF THINGS. PUPPIES AND SUCHLIKE. 

The door banged shut on his words. Albert shook his head, bemused. _Puppies_? Well, he supposed a skeletal rat was about as far away from _that_ as you could get….the Master got funny ideas, sometimes. And he was always getting things muddled. Take the Sunshine Sanctuary for Sick Dragons, for instance. A right mess that had been, and no mistake. Volunteer work definitely _wasn't_ Death's thing. He hoped the young lady wasn't scared of mice or other small and not-quite-so-furry creatures… And he agreed with the Master, no, it probably_ hadn't_ been Death of Rats that had made her leave….

Sighing and starting to cough as black plumes rose from the skillet, he removed his dinner from the stove, waving his arms madly to try and dispel the smoke. He eyed the remains of his dinner for a moment, and then shrugged in resignation. He'd be better off with one of Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler's Things-inna-Bun than what was staring up at him now. The skillet hissed furiously as he sadly doused it in water, and then headed for the stables and Binky.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She was almost ready. Agnetha flipped back her midnight hair, humming to herself as green eyes met hers in the mirror. Tonight was the first night of the full moon, but there was nothing she could do. She was determined to enjoy the date while she could, so she'd arranged (through the ever so helpful Mrs Frost) to meet Mr De'ath early in the evening, before the moon had a chance to show its face. Then she could always leave - in a mysterious yet enticing manner - before – before it started….

She'd tried to get to see Ridcully again yesterday, but apparently he'd wandered off in the Library, leaving only the sound of his voice behind. Apparently it had been yelling, "Ohbuggerbuggerbuggerdamnwherethehellisthis… arrrrrrgle…... Don'ttouchthat! DON'TTOUCHTHAT!Isaidnodon'ttouchthatoh_youstupidbloody_ARRRRGGLLLLLLEEHHHHH ……WWAAAAHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…………...." 

The Librarian had recruited a crack team of specialist wizards and they'd swung off on a risky mission to the uncharted farthest Shelf regions to find him. In the event that they didn't come back, the Librarian had bequeathed his belongings (about twenty bananas and a somewhat flea bitten blanket) to Rincewind, if anyone could find him. And as per Ridcully's last known instructions, The Unseen University was currently being run by the Bursar, who had last been seen dancing and frolicking through the gardens in a pink frock, refusing to take his dried frog pills and talking to his cucumbers.

Agnetha giggled slightly as she wandered out of her room and down the stairs, gliding into the kitchen. Mrs Cake was preparing to go out (again), and was busily skewering a large garden and most of a fruit stall onto her head with some wickedly sharp looking hat pins.

"Well, Ay think you look delightful, dear!" Mrs Cake said, beaming, as she looked her charge up and down.

"How do I look? – ah," Agnetha grimaced. It was on again…

"Ay'm just out to the Blood Drive, dear. Those poor vampires, you know, it's such a shame."

"Off somewhere ni-" Agnetha bit back on the words.

"Oh no, not at all!" Mrs Cake trilled. "Very useful for any freelance thieves, you know!"

"Aren't those hat pins a bit sha-" Agnetha almost ground her teeth, trying to work an imploring gaze onto Mrs Cake's rosy cheeked face.

The small, round medium blinked once or twice, then shook her head. "Ay sense – something odd, you know," she said slowly, glancing round. Her currant-dark, twinkling eyes met Agnetha's startled green ones for a moment then slid away. "Ay'm not sure what it is….ah. Ay've turned it off now, you know."

Agnetha smiled in thanks. "Well, I hope the Blood Drive is good," she offered nervously.

Mrs Cake gave her a sharp look and then resumed her characteristically smiley, apple-cheeked appearance. "And you be careful on this date, my dear," she admonished. "A helpless young lady like yourself, off to met a strange gentleman – would never have done it in my day," she sniffed, pulling on her gloves and picking up a small bag as she headed past the astonished Agnetha, "but you young people, no waiting, well, where was Ay, oh yes, you be careful but enjoy yourself, and now Ay really must go, Ay won't wait up, goodnight!"

Agnetha stood bemused in the hallway as Mrs Cake and her flower show sailed majestically out into the early evening air, and the door banged shut behind her.


	7. .

7.

Mrs Frost had arranged for Agnetha to meet Mr De'ath at a tavern not that far from the Unseen University, and Death had made sure he was in good time for the date.   After all, it would hardly to for Death to be late, now would it?   The sun was setting, turning the air above the city to liquid gold fire, and the air was warm, and fragrant (though not as fragrant as usual, by Ankh-Morporkian standards).  Binky touched down lightly on the cobblestones outside the tavern, trotting to a halt.  Carefully Death led him round to a courtyard in the back, handing him over to a blank-faced groom, whose brain had decided to take a quick break and look in on things later, when maybe the seven foot skeleton might have gone away.  

SEE THAT HE IS WELL LOOKED AFTER FOR ME.   I WILL BE INSIDE – I MAY BE SOME TIME.  Death said, grinning at the groom.  The man nodded, slack-jawed, and reached out automatically to grasp Binky's reins.  Death turned, with the Death of Rats peeking from his pocket, and made his way into the tavern.  A few moments later, the groom's eyes cleared, and he found a large white horse staring at him curiously, ears flicking.  His eyes moved down to the supple leather reins in his hand.   Wildly he glanced round the empty courtyard.  His brain had stepped back in after its breather, but had no intention of telling him where the horse had come from. _A seven foot skeleton clothed in darkness?  Oh, right!  See 'em all the time.  No way_, his brain thought grimly.  At last he shrugged, and led Binky into a stable.

Death pushed open the door at the back of the tavern – a handy escape route, in most cases – and walked in, feet clicking on the floor, and sticking in some places.  He nodded politely to the patrons as he moved through the throng of people, most of whom nodded back and ten seconds later had no idea at all why they were nodding.  He reached the bar.

"Yessir, whatcanIgetyou?" the barman asked, not looking up from his glass polishing.  Slowly he became aware that there was an odd silence, roughly human-shaped, in front of him.  He looked up and blinked.  Orang-utans and vampires he was used to, even the odd zombie (once even a ghoul, but that had been a mistake) but not usually skeletons. Or at least, not this _particular_ one.

WHAT IS THAT? Death enquired, pointing to a bottle on a shelf behind the barman.

"That?  It's, um, scumble, sir.  But you don't want none of that, not a gen'leman like you."

WHY?

"Er, because, er, you'll be seeing things, sir."  _Like I am_, he thought.  _I'm talking to a skeleton.  Ach_.  He stifled a giggle.  _Perhaps I should have some scumble, it might help.  Wheeeeeeeeeeee._

REALLY?  WHAT IS IT MADE OF?__

"Apples," the barman said.  "Mostly."

SQUEEAaaaakKKK S            QUEEaakkk.  Death of Rats chipped in, nose twitching.

AH.  Death said.  WELL MY – FRIEND WILL HAVE SOME.  I WILL HAVE – he swung round and pointed at a blue bottle near the scumble – SOME OF THAT INSTEAD.  WHILE I WAIT.

The barman cleared his throat.  "Right you are then."  He reached under the bar and produced a pair of steel gauntlets, a small metal thimble, a pair of tongs and a pair of goggles.  Carefully he pulled on the gauntlets and goggles, and gently positioned the thimble in a handy vice nearby. Then, wielding the tongs, he reached up for the bottle of scumble, holding it firmly by its long slender neck.  Death and his passenger watched these preparations with great interest.  Slowly the barman tipped the bottle up and carefully, sweating, drop by drop, poured into the thimble.  One drop of scumble hit the edge of the metal container and slid down it.  Fascinated, Death and Death of Rats watched its progress as it slid down towards the wooden bar, and disappeared into it.  A faint wisp of smoke marked its progress.  The barman swallowed and finished pouring, placing the bottle back on the shelf carefully and removing his steel protection.

Neither of them noticed the steady flow of other customers heading for the door.  No-one wanted to be involved in a scumble-drinking.  Oh, no.  The tavern emptied faster than the Unseen University dining hall after dinner.

"One scumble," he said, using the tongs to lift the thimble and place it on the bar.  Death of Rats hopped out of the pocket he was riding in and scrabbled along the bar, sniffing interestedly, nose twitching madly.   The barman poured from Death's chosen blue bottle and set the glass down and ignored the bony hand that reached out to pick it up. 

WHAT DO I OWE YOU?  Death asked.

 "Er, nothing.  Tell you what, they're on the house, then you don't owe me anything and don't need to come back for, oooh, years, I shouldn't think," the barman said hurriedly.  "What are you waiting for?" he asked after a moment, recalling Death's remark about waiting.

AH.  The skull leaned in a little closer.  I AM MEETING SOMEONE.  A YOUNG LADY.  I BELIEVE SHE WILL RECOGNISE THE FLOWER IN MY LAPEL.   AND I'LL HAVE ANOTHER OF THOSE.   

The barman peered closer, squinting, and saw, against the shifting blackness of Death's robe, a black flower.  It might have been a carnation.  It might not.  But you'd probably need to have your nose pressed up against Death's robe to see it in the first place.  He picked up the glass, not speculating about where, exactly the contents had gone, and poured another.

"Oh, right!  You been to that Mrs Frost, then?  She's a funny old sort and no mistake," the barman said, absently picking up and polishing another glass.  "Has all sorts for her clients.  Vampires, werewolves, you name it.  Even wizards!  Well, you picked a nice night for it, anyway.  Be a lovely full moon, later."  He grinned at Death's glass and added, "This Klatchian courage, is it?"

YES.  Death confided.  MY MANSERVANT RECOMMENDED HER SERVICES.  AND ANOTHER, PLEASE, BARKEEP.

The barman poured another drink.  "So, what do you do on your, er, time off?" he asked curiously.

I KEEP CHICKENS.  AND I HAVE A COW.  AND THERE'S BINKY, OF COURSE.  Death said.  The glass reappeared, once again empty, on the bar.  AND ANOTHER!  AND YOU HAVE ONE AS WELL.

"Well, thank you," said the barman happily.  He poured them both large ones and raised his glass.  "Good heal- er."  

Death sniggered.  AHHAHAHAAHAHAAA.  GOOD HEALTH.  A GOOD JOKE.  I WILL REMEMBER IT.  

They were both distracted by a noise as something metal rolled along the bar.  Death turned in time to see Death of Rats keel over backwards, legs in the air, giggling hysterically. Go on, imagine it.  I dare you.  Death put his fourth empty glass on the bar and stared at Death of Rats, frowning as much as he was able.

WHAT – ISH THE MATTER WISH HIM?  he said.  He appeared to be going cross-eyed, the flaring supernovas drifting oddly.

"Ah, that'll just be the scumble.  Don't you worry.  He's prob'ly just seein', er," the barman floundered for something that Death of Rats could be seeing, "mountains of cheese or somethin'."

AH.  ANOTHER DRINK FOR ME, AND ONE FOR YOU ASH WELL!

Happily the barman poured for them both again.  "What time are you meeting her?" he asked as the contents of the glass mysteriously disappeared again.

WHO? 

The barman giggled. "Your date.  Your young lady," he expanded.  He'd long since got over the fact that he was talking to a seven foot skeleton, with another skeleton legs-up on the bar.  He felt nice and warm after his second drink.

OH!  Death said, peering round.  He leant forward on the bar, robes flapping round.  SOON? he suggested hazily.

"D'you know what she looks like-," the barman's eyes went round as he saw the door open and a figure moved, slid, undulated inside.   He pursed his lips and whistled softly.  "He-ello!" he said.  Then he saw the red flower against her coat, as she paused just inside and blinked, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit interior of the tavern.  "'ere, I think this is it! I think she's here!" he said, nudging Death's shoulder.

HMMMMM?  OH.  ISH IT THAT TIME ALREADY?  He turned from the bar, focusing with difficulty on the curving shape gliding towards him. He saw the shining black hair, glowing green eyes, whiter than white skin.  Lips red as rubies were curved in a smile.   He wondered for a confused moment if she was a vampire.

"Hello," she said, approaching.  "You must be Mr De'ath.  I'm Agnetha Ridcully."  She stopped as she got her first good look at Death, then shrugged and carried on.  Well, you couldn't expect everything to be perfect, she certainly wasn't, and they might have a nice evening.  She reckoned she had about two hours until the moon rose, fat and full above the horizon.  "It's, er, nice to meet you."  She held out a hand to shake, and after three attempts, Death managed to grab hold of it.  Agnetha resisted the urge to wince at the smooth, bony grip.

AND YOU.  He grinned.  WOULD YOU LIKE A DRINK?  THE BLUE ONE ISH PARTICULARLY NISHE. ASHK THE BARMAN.  BARMAN, A DRINK FOR ME AND ONE FOR YOU AND ONE FOR THE YOUNG LADY IF YOU PLEASHE.

SHHQEAak. Sssssshhhhhhhqqqqqqeeeaaakkkkk. SHHHQUEEA – HIC.  

Agnetha turned in surprise, eyebrows raised.  "And this is?" she asked.

Death squinted.  DEATH OF RATSH. HE'SH BEEN HAVING SCHUM – SCH – SCHUMBBLUM?  SCHUMBLE!

"Ah," Agnetha said wisely.  "Well, never mind.  Just make sure you've got some ice in the morning for him!"  Gratefully she seized the glass the barman had poured for her.  "Well, bottoms up and all that!"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They'd moved from the bar and sat now at a table, leaving the barman singing and giggling to himself as he sampled the contents of various different bottles.  They'd brought the bottle of blue drink with them, and a friend to keep it company.  Every now and again, a faint squeaking snore would drift across from Death of Rats.

SHO WHAT'SH A NISHE GIRL LIKE YOU DOING IN ANKH-MOR-HIC? Death asked.

Agnetha frowned.  "I came to see my uncle," she said carefully. "For some – help.  With a little problem.  He's the Archchancellor at the Unseen University."

AH.  A WIZSHARD!  Death recognised wisely.  Grinning, he reached for his glass, picking it up and peering comically through the bottom of it.  Agnetha was treated to a magnified version of a supernova, twinkling at her.  SHOMEONE DRANK MY DRINK! he exclaimed. He topped up his glass.  DID YOUR UNCLE HELP WITH YOUR PROBL-HIC?

"No," she said.  "He disappeared into the Uncharted Regions. He's - he might be dead, for all I know."  She sniffed.

AH. Death waggled his glass at her.  NOT ON MY SHIFT.  HAHAHAHA. HAVE'SH ANOSHER DRINK.  'SHVERY NISHE.  WHAT'SH THE PROBLEM THEN?

"Er, just a little thing, really. Only happens every now and again," she said uncomfortably.  "I really can't stay too long, tonight.  I'll have to be gone – er, before the moon rises."

If Death had eyebrows, he would have raised them.  As it was, he settled for a grin.

~* ~ * ~ * ~

They were giggling and were making friends with a green bottle when Agnetha felt a strange tug at her nerve-ends, a thin shrilling sensation, her skin suddenly feeling stretched too tightly over her bones.  

"Er, er, what time ish it?" she hiccupped urgently, interrupting Death at the crucial point of a story involving witches and kings and ghosts.  

TIME FOR ANOSHER DRINK! Death said wittily, sniggering.

Agnetha felt herself twitch.  The barman reeled over, staggering with some clean glasses.  "What time ish it?" she asked again, feeling her skin grow tighter and tighter.  The tavern seemed suddenly stiflingly hot.

The barman weaved over to the door and squinted outside.  "It'sh dark," he informed her when he came back, careening off several tables on his journey.  "The moon'sh jusht shtarting to rishe."

Agnetha felt the first stirrings of panic.  She had to get away!  Her skin continued to shrink, and now her bones were aching, particularly round the area of the old bite.

Death squinted at her.  ARE YOU ALRIGHT?  he asked, watching as she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.  When she opened her eyes again, they were glowing.  Literally, deep and feral, shining.

"I'm fine, but I musht go home," she said quickly, starting to rise to her feet.  "It'sh, er, late and I musht go.  I've had a lovely time," she added, smiling.  "Ow!"  

She yelped as the urge thrilled along her nerves again, a rising howl in her body.  _Give in, _it urged.  _Let the change happen.  Be free! Give in! Change!  Change!  CHANGE!_

"Oh my Gods, it's too late!  It's coming!  The change is coming!"

YOU'RE NOT A WEREWOLF , ARE YOU? Death asked, suspiciously.

"No!  It's worse!  I'm an opera singer!  A were-singer!"  she suddenly shouted.  "Bitten by a mad opera singer on the night of the full moon, I carry her curse!  I must sing when the moon is full! And tonight – is the night when…..it's coming, I can feel it!"  

She shrieked suddenly.  Death squinted even more and the barman fell over a chair and lay on the floor.  "It's going to happen! ARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!" She let out an unearthly howl and arched back, hands clawing at her throat.  "_Noooooooooooo!"  _Her body contorted, swelling and changing, becoming.  Becoming something – else.

Death blinked away the fog in front of his eyes, watching as the shape in front of him changed, altered.  Black hair became blond plaits, bound up in a helmet with two large horns rearing up from it.  Her bosom swelled and her clothes changed to a warrior princess outfit, steel-chested, leather skirted.  Hips swelled, arms lost their slenderness and became meaty.  Slowly she lowered her head and stared at him, legs apart, hands on hips.

Death stared.  

"AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!" she laughed, tossing her head, voice also different.  Booming from that larger chest, echoing in the tavern.  And she launched into song, yodelling a well known Morkporkian aria, screeching to invisible music, striding round the bar.  "_AAANNNNDDDDD SOOOOOOO __THHHHHEEEEEEE FFFFAIIIIIIRRRRR__MMAAIDDDDENNNNNNN LOOOSTTTTTT HERRRRRRRR LOOOOOVVVVVVVEEEEEEE__, AALLA LA LA LA LAAAAAAAAA, __AND DROWN'D THE WOORRLLLLLLDDDDD INN HHEEEERRRRRR TEEAAARRRRRS………."_

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

Death stared morosely into the cup of tea that Albert had poured for him.  Death of Rats sat in his third bucket of ice, a pillow on his head, and steam was starting to slip up again.

WE WERE GETTING ON SO WELL. he said. AND THEN – THE CURSE.  THE SONG.  GODS, THE NOISE.  He shuddered.  I HOPE SOMEONE OUT THERE CAN HELP HER. NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO LISTEN TO THAT.  EVER.  IT'S ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE DEAD.  AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA.

"Ah, well, Master," said Albert companionably, in his usual space at the cooker.  "Perhaps we should give up for a bit, eh?  Have a rest before we start again."

AND THE HAIR.  AND THE HELMET!  I SHALL HAVE NIGHTMARES.

"Don't you think about it, Master.  You just drink your tea, and keep an eye on Death of Rats. He'll need more ice, soon, shouldn't wonder."  He added, "Maybe – it's meant.  Fate, and all that Gods business.  Prawns, and suchlike.  Playing with Men's Destinies.  Only you're not Men, though, are you?  You're Death.  Maybe you – well, you know."

Death sighed.  I SUPPOSE YOU ARE RIGHT.  AND THERE IS ALWAYS THE DUTY.  PERHAPS I COULD – TALK MORE BEFORE I COLLECT THE SOULS.  He brightened.  OR I COULD GET A PET?

  
He heaved himself out of his chair and picked up the bucket with Death of Rats in it.  WOULD YOU LIKE A PET?  LET'S GO TO THE STUDY AND LOOK AT THE BOOKS.  PERHAPS WE CAN GET SOME IDEAS……. MAYBE A CAT?

The kitchen door was already swinging shut behind him as he left, but the faint sound of an outraged (and extremely hung-over) squeak drifted back to Albert as Death of Rats gave his opinion on the cat option.

_Well, here we go again! _Albert thought.  He grinned, and began to whistle as he lifted a perfectly browned sausage onto a spatula.


End file.
